


Beauty

by KiannaLeigh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: smut_fest, M/M, Shameless Smut, Shifters, Shower Sex, Smut Fest, Worst Enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiannaLeigh/pseuds/KiannaLeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an accidental death gave him a new lease on life Sammy ran with it. Too bad he didn't run far or fast enough, because his accident is catching up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

_Click-click_

The sound of the camera shutter was so familiar to him that it was nearly comforting. When he was on set, smiling and posing, the rest of the world didn't seem real. The stage was real. The person he was in the photo was real. Nothing else really existed. But that was fine. His life was far too complicated and the still, silent, and beautiful world of the photographs was much preferable.

Of his own volition he slid slightly, shifting his position, creating a new angle for the camera. It was tiny adjustment but he knew that sometimes the smallest shifts in angle and composition could make or break a photograph. He stared ahead of him, wondering what the camerawoman was seeing, but he couldn't see anything farther than his own sensuous purple clothes.

The clothes were glorious. He'd taken time to look them over. It was an eastern style coat, the sort of thing worn by Lateolites before they opened their borders and started wearing normal clothes.

The whole thing was a single long robe-type garment with many layers, each the same style but increasing in thickness and design as it got farther from the skin. The bottom layers, barely visible along his neckline, were cream and white with purple threading. The top-most layer was deep purple with gold threading. The whole outfit was held together with a large sash that wrapped around the waist of the wearer, tied in an elaborate knot at the back with its arms falling down the back of the garment to the knees. The shoes were small and delicate slip-ons in a light purple with more gold threading. Gold dust and gold jewelry had been applied to his skin and body to make him compliment the outfit.

When he'd seen the outfit, he'd been pleased. He'd sketched just such a concept and submitted it for approval with his boss. The whole theme had come together nicely and he was happy to a part of it.

_Click-click_

Again, that sound. It was sound of work being done. It was sound of dreams being made real. It was a sound he used to be so much closer to but now it sounded so far away.

Once, Sammy had been the top photographer for the very company he model for. He had been twenty-four when he'd first been called a visionary. He took photos that took people's breath away. He had loved it. Photography had been his whole world. For ten years he had been on top of the world.

And then, one morning, spots began to form in his vision as he was looking at his prints. Sammy had thought he was tired. He had rested his eyes, taken a nap. When he woke up, the spots were gone, but they didn't stay gone. Everyday the white spots in his vision grew larger, blurring out details, ruining his depth perception, destroying his career. Only the different shades and hues of colors remained.

It had been an impossibly rapid decline. Within six months, Sammy had gone from a photographer at the top of his game, to half a step from unemployment and already legally blind. The only reason he still had a job was a twist of fate.

"Sammy? I think we're good for now."

He opened his eyes. Really, he hadn't realized he closed them until after he opened them again. The camerawoman was so close to him now that he could see the plaid stripes on her shirt. He didn't blame her sudden closeness on his slowness, but rather on her quickness. The woman - Noma - had always moved fast. She walked fast and she worked fast - the latter trait which the man had scolded her for time and time again.

"You're sure. That was rather quick."

The woman smiled but she had backed up and he couldn't see it. He knew where her face was but he couldn't see the details. He heard her little laugh though.

"Boss. It's fine. I checked and double checked. I'll do you proud, Sam."

The man raised his chin and wrinkled his nose. It was a gesture he made often, signifying his annoyance with a situation. The very world around him seemed to annoy him at times. "I'm not your boss anymore, Noma. I'm just your model. It wasn't my place to ask about your shoot anyway."

People said to him sometimes that when he one sense weakened the other senses heightened in an attempt to make up for the lack. When he first began to lose his sight, he never believed it. Now, Sammy could hear the shift in ex-assistants emotions. He could feel her tension in the air. He knew before she opened her mouth exactly what she would say.

"But I'll always be looking out for you," he added quickly, before she could start into the monologue that would be meant to display her loyalty but would succeed in making Sammy hate her a little. He smiled in her direction. Not at her, because he was never really sure he was hitting his mark, but in her direction. "I plucked you out of your backroom job because I saw greatness in you. I still see greatness in you, even though I can barely see. I just don't want you cheating yourself with that rush-rush-rush you always do."

The air shifted again. A vibration cut through it like ripples in water. Sammy could hear the woman's mood changing.

"Thanks Boss," she muttered.

She was smiling. He could hear it. Sammy smiled too and held his hand out. The woman took it and arm-in-arm they walked to the dressing room so he could get out of his clothes for the shoot and into his street clothes.

The process was a long and rather slow one. It took two people to help him out of it. The layers of the robe had to undone one by one and put away carefully so that the fabric would be safe. The outfit, after all, was as immensely expensive as it was complicated.

"I can hardly believe that those Easterners wear these robes everyday," Sammy muttered. "How stupid!"

"Actually these outfits have been part of Leteolite culture for hundreds of years."The voice belonged to Johnson who was the project manager, not to mention cozy with the director of the company. He ran just about everything in the photographers' and models' lives and was not to be ignored. "The ornate design is symbol of the talent of the robe-maker. And those robes are called "kimono, " over there. They're native to the island empire of Japan."

Sammy snorted and shrugged. "U-huh. It matters." He had never been much impressed by Johnson's bolstering and know-it-all type of attitude.

"Well you better start thinking it matters," Johnson snapped. "You're all going to Tokyo."

The tremor that went around the room danced across Sammy's skin. "What do you mean we're going to Tokyo? Why the hell would we do that?"

"Because it's the capital of United Japanese Empire, of course. Sammy you're blind, not stupid. Get it together."

Sammy frowned. He was about to give his boss a piece of his mind when the man approached him and slapped both sides of his face between his hands. The man was so close, Sammy could see the color of his face - a light tan- and eyes - deep blue. It wasn't much, just colors and no hard lines but it was something.

"You've done it, my man," Johnson said. "You've done it this time!" He slapped his face again and then turned his head side to side to kiss his stinging cheeks. "Those shifter bastards have invited us over to do a photo shoot. They're paying for it all; they want to make you a sensation."

Johnson stepped back and laughed. Sammy took a moment to breath normally. The man smelt like liquor in the middle of the day. Another thing about him that Sammy hated.

"Those shifters love you. They think you're gorgeous. Well you are gorgeous, aren't you Sammy?" Johnson reached out and patted Sammy's cheek. "They said, oh what were the words? They said you could almost pass for one of them! Ha! Can you believe it?"

"Why would I want to pass as a shifter?" Sammy said dismissively as he turned and began to reach for his jacket. Before he could find it, he felt someone grab his shoulder and turn him around.

"You wouldn't," Johnson went on. "But we want them to think that you might. This is a big opportunity for us. Things haven't been the same since you up left us."

"I'm right here."

"Yea, and blind as a one eyed bat too. Fat lot of good that does us. Right Mora?"

"It's Noma, sir," the woman said but it was barely louder than a whisper and Sammy doubted Johnson could hear her over the sound of his own ego.

"With him all blind, our top shooter is you, and no offense Mora, but you're no Sammy Beauchamp."

"No sir," Mona muttered. "I never said I was. And it's Noma."

"But no," Johnson went on. "We've got our work cut out for us, now don't we. If we can reel in those shifty bastards we'll have it made. Sammy you just go over there and be beautiful." He patted the man's cheek again. "You know, just sit there and look pretty. Mora, you snap those photos and try not to fuck anything up. And you Robert, look after everything over there. Make sure they don't offend anyone."

Robert was the set manager, in charge of keeping everything to together. Technically besides the photographer himself, Robert was second-in-command on any given set, but Johnson treated the man like trash. But then again, Johnson treated everyone like trash to varying degrees and even Sammy had forgotten Robert was in the room, helping him out of his costume, until just now. The man had a way of blending into the backdrop of life.

"I'm sure I'll do my best," Robert answered. He may have been a wallflower, but he was a competent man. Too bad Johnson was his boss.

Johnson laughed. It grated Sammy's ears. It was too loud, too long and too self-content. "Well now I'm sure we're doomed to failure. Get over yourself, Robert. Can you believe this guy, Mora."

"Her name Noma!" Sammy snapped. "I hired her two years ago and you still don't know her name!"

"I know her name, hotshot!" Johnson snapped. "I think Mora's a better name than Noma. What sort of name is that anyway, Noma? Sounds like a Eastern name."

Noma made a sound like she was irritated but it was too soft for Johnson to hear over the sound of his own ego singing his praises. "It's-" she start but got cut off.

"Well whatever. Call yourself what you like. Just don't fuck up the photos. Now get out of here you three. I've a crew coming in to pack up the set. I don't want you in the way."

The man turned. Sammy could hear the squeak of his heel on the wood floor. Then he walked off in long but rapid stride like he really had somewhere important to be. Most likely he was just going to talk down to someone else. His absence left a hole in the room that was quickly filled up with a sense of relief and returned warmth.

"I swear we should all quit," Sammy muttered as he groped for his jacket. He felt the material of it being pressed into his palm and he closed his fingers around it. As he put it on, he could smell Robert's cologne clinging to the fabric.

"Quit," the man said with a little chuckle. "We'd be blacklisted."

"Only from the companies that kiss up to Johnson and his boss-slash-lover Brennan and I wouldn't want to work in those places anyway."

"I think we should stay," Noma suggested. Her voice was softer than it had been on set. It lacked the loud, pig-headed confidence that she sometimes had. Sammy found he missed it and hated Johnson for one more thing because she lacked it after talking to him. "No one else has been invited into the United Japanese Empire. No one has even been east of Istanbul in almost a hundred years."

"No one but the traders," Robert added. "And even that don't go to the capital. Only to trading ports set up in the middle of nowhere."

The group of three gathered their things - Noma took Sammy's stuff - and headed out of the studio and towards the elevators.

"It's strange," Sammy said as Noma took his arm. "You know you don't have to do that," he said to her.

"I know!" she said brightly. It was a yellow sound. Sammy liked it.

"Well anyway," he went on. "It's strange. We get all kinds of things from the East. Cars, ipods." He nudged Noma. "Cameras. Our cameras were made over in the east. But no one goes over their. No one sees where this stuff is made."

"Well after the Shifter Isolation couldn't be helped." Robert had a grey sound it his voice, neutral and uncaring. Sammy tried to decide whether he was irritated with his attitude or agreed with him.

"I guess," was the response he settled on.

"But we're going to go," Noma added in even more of a yellow tone than before. "We'll be the first."

They stopped at the elevators. The bell less dinged and more popped as it signaled that the elevator had been called.

"So why don't we quit after we get back?"

Sammy said the words in a low tone but he knew Noma and Robert had heard him. Their breathing paused a minute. Their bodies became very still; there was no sound of the rustling of clothes moving around the fidgeting bodies. No. They had heard him and they were shocked.

"Really?" Noma asked.

"The Easterners don't want this place," Sammy explained. "They want me. If I apply for a new job after this is over, I could get it like that." He snapped the fingers of his free hand, his left hand. "I'll take you two with me. Simple as that."

"Johnson would hate us," Noma whispered.

"That's the business," Robert whispered back. "Besides, when has he ever given us a reason to be loyal?"

To that Noma had no reply and just then the elevator bell sounded.

The preparations for the trip took two days. Sammy was tempted to be impressed with the efficiency that Johnson could work with but the man was always on point when it came to making himself look good. Sammy mostly sat back and allowed himself to be swept up by events. He didn't want to bother with it. The only time he felt himself bothered by anything was while they were already on the plane.

Sammy was dozing, half listening to a conversation that Robert and Noma were having. They was chatting about what they thought Tokyo would looked like. It was said that the city had buildings so sleek and tall that they touched the clouds. There were supposed to be so many people packed into the city that the streets never emptied and there were slim bridges over the roads so pedestrians could cross the streets. Apparently all the children looked normal but as they grew, their shifter blood gave them horns and hooves and fur and feathers and made float and glow and shimmer. It was supposed to be quite the spectacle.

Of course there was the question of how these details came to be if no westerner had been allowed inside the borders of the East in almost a century. Most likely, Sammy guessed, the Eastern traders had told the Western traders about their home and the from there the stories had traveled farther west. But that really didn't matter. Sammy would never get to see the sights, even though he was there. He'd never know if the stories were true unless he asked someone.

And all this made him remember that he had asked someone about the Eastern cities once. He was model from the east who had come on holiday to the west. Sammy and the shifter had entertained a brief romance. During it, the shifter that told him about the glimmering Eastern cities with its wild looking people and strange customs. He had also told him about a strange shifter trait that allowed men to carry children like women. Sammy had been surprised to find out the man was a mother as well as a father. But all that was over a year in the past and neither here nor there at the moment. It had no consequence on his current situation.

Huffing, Sammy turned slightly in his seat so that his back was towards his companions and tried to drift off to sleep.

As it turned out, their arrival in Tokyo turned out to be more interesting than Sammy had anticipated. The first thing he noticed was the noise. It was voices, speaking fast and all speaking at once, a quick flat language that shot through the air like bullets. It sounded like a rush of air. Then there was the footfalls. Everywhere footfalls. Coming, going, stopping, changing directions, it was a constant throb under all the voices. As they hurried along outside into some sort of bus Sammy picked up little things with his eyes. Flashes of light, splashes of color, the world was a blur still but it was a bright, beautiful noisy blur. Sammy found himself smiling. It reminded him somehow of New York.

As they drove through the streets smells began to assault them. Not bad smells, food. There were sweet smells, spicy smells. Sammy's mouth was watering within minutes. He looked from side to side, barely able to see, but able to imagine the streets teeming with people, the vendors, the food. A streak of blinding white crossed them overhead.

"Noma!" Sammy said as he nudged her. "Were those pedestrian bridges?"

"Yea! Oh my god. There are so many people. And there are street vendors. It's amazing! I'm taking pictures of everything."

Sammy laughed. "For once your rush, rush will be to your advantage."

"I know!"

With a smile Sammy sat back and closed his eyes. The sounds of the street traffic, the people, and sounds of the city itself were all around him along with those wonderful smells of food. "I hope they serve us dinner first," he muttered mostly to himself.

In fact the place they were staying did plan to serve them dinner first off. They were going to have some time to go up their hotel rooms, get cleaned up and rest before they were escorted to a first class restaurant for dinner. After dinner there would be a show, some sort of traditional concert. Smiling to himself Sammy turned in a circle in his room.

As usual, his surroundings were reduced by his bad eyesight to blurs and a streaks of color and light but he liked the room nonetheless. The colors worked well and there were windchimes in the window creating a pleasant space. Someone must have left the window open for the chimes to sound and for a breeze to come in. Sammy closed his eyes and felt the wind on his face. Even this far up - he'd been told they were on the forty-second floor - he could smell the vendors down on the street.

"It's a nice room, isn't it?" A voice, speaking in English with a little Eastern accent. Not old. Maybe a teenager or young man. They weren't at the door. They were already deep in the room.

"How did you get in here?" Sammy asked as he tried - and failed - to separate the blur he thought was the intruder from the background of the room. "Who are you?"

"I'm Hana. I'm your assistant."

Sammy frowned. "I'm just a model. I don't need an assistant."

"You're the model everyone's talking about. You're the guest of honor. Plus you're blind. You'll be needing help."

"I guess," Sammy muttered. Finally he saw the figure move. Since he could still see movement he followed the figure as it glided silently across the room and disappeared into what Sammy had to assume was a doorway. He had to assume it was a doorway because otherwise the figure had just walked into a strange whitish rectangle and disappeared.

"I've been told to help you clean up before dinner. Would you like a shower or a bath?"

"A shower's fine," Sammy answered. "Don't take offense, but are you a man or a woman, Hana?"

A laugh. And when the laughed floated out of the room, it sounded like bells. "It's okay. My particular tribe grows out of its sex as we mature. I was born a boy, though, and I'll always be a "he" in my own mind, so you can feel free to call me that."

Sammy moved slowly over to the door. "I see. So what sort of ... Lateolite are you." Sammy had to catch himself. He wanted to say "Shifter" but was pretty sure he'd offend the young man. The proper term was the Latin word "Lateolite".

More laughter. It was even more merry than the first time. "If you're going to use that term, just say shifter and don't bother with dead languages."

Finally moving through the doorway, Sammy frowned and watched - as best he could - the figure shifting and moving in the pale lavender room. "Isn't Lateolite the right word?" he asked.

"No. It means, if I understand it right, "the hidden ones" or "those you lay in wait" like bandit on a ambush. It means that we're tricking the world by being born one way and becoming something else. Naturally, that's not how we see it."

"Oh. I see." Sammy had never heard it defined that why. The last shifter he had known had never bothered to correct his wording. "So what do you call yourselves?"

"In Japanese? Or in Latin?"

"Uhh ... both, I guess."

More of that laughter. Is sounded like sunshine. Not just yellow, but warm and sweet and refreshing like the first bite of apple pie on a warm summer day. "In Japanese we call ourselves Ikujin."

"Ikujin. What does that mean in English?"

The figure paused. He seemed to be sitting on something. Probably the edge if the tub. "The character that sounds like "iku" is used for the term "grow up". "Jin" means "people"."

"So you're the people who grow up? Makes sense. You shift as you age."

"We do. And in Latin we're are the Mutaui. That's a word that means "to modify, change or shift"."

"I see." Sammy slowly entered the room, careful to figure out how many steps it was until he came to the place Hana was sitting, which should have been the tub. "I guess your way of speaking about yourself is better than ours. It can't be helped though. I've said it before."

"Have you? Did you know another Ikujin?"

Stopping suddenly, Sammy looked down at the young man. He was close enough to see a few details about him. He was blonde haired. Or maybe it was white. His face was round, maybe a bit oval. He was wearing dark blue clothes that Sammy couldn't see the details of. It made sense that he had blended in with the other room that was also dark blue.

"I knew one once. A model that I was working with."

"You were modeling together then?"

"No. I was a photographer then."

Hana laughed. Sammy felt he should have been annoyed, but he couldn't find the strength. "You?" Hana asked. "A photographer? You can barely see your hand in front of your face."

For some reason, Sammy laughed too, very softly. "Yea that's true. But I wasn't always this way. I use to have better than perfect eyesight and a attention for details that pissed people off. Before this," he waved his hand in front of it face. Truly, he could barely see it. "I was one of the best photographers in the business."

"What happened?" The young man sound so interested, so sympathetic, that Sammy found the words drawn up out of him.

"I don't know. Some medical jargon. All know is my eyes started to go, little by little."

"But you got a job modeling instead of taking pictures."

Again, for no apparent reason, Sammy laughed. "Yea. It was dumb luck. It was a twist of fate. It saved my life. I still miss photography, but I sketch out the set designs and they use those to make up the photographs so I'm still part of it somehow."

"It all turned out rather well for you, considering."

"True. Considering it all. It turned out okay."

Yes. It had turned out well and for that, Sammy thanked the god he had stopped believing in everyday. It had been a miracle when something had happened to save his life. But it had been a bloody, awful miracle. It was almost more like a sacrifice.

The model he had been working with - the shifter on holiday that Sammy was going to get famous by photographing - he had been the one to pay for it. He had told Sammy about his culture. He had lived in Sammy's home. They had shared a bed. The man man had prolonged his vacation for weeks to stay by Sammy's side as he quickly lost everything along with the use of his eyes. Sammy supposed that in someway, in some part of themselves, they were in love.

But Sammy could admit, he had a bad temper when it came to his work. He demanded perfection and when he didn't get it, it could get violent. It had been a little comment, just a simple utterance that even without his sight, Sammy would find something else to do with his life. It had even turned out to be true. But at the time, all Sammy had heard was one more person telling him to calmly give up everything that he held dear.

Sammy had reached out and grabbed whatever had been nearest to him and swung hard. The shifter had collapsed but Sammy hadn't been finished. He had wrapped his hands around that beautiful pale throat and squeezed until he had painted it an ugly black and blue. All the while he had been screaming. Screaming about how he didn't want another life; he wanted his life. When he was tired, when he was spent, he had lay down and had cried himself into a daze or to sleep. It was only when he had woke up that he realized what had happened. The shifter was gone and Sammy looked different somehow.

Staring at the barely there lavendar of the walls to try to banish the hateful memories, Sammy frowned.

"Are you okay?" Hana asked. His voice was so full of sudden concern that it made the model smile.

"Yea. I'm fine. Let's get going, shall we?"

After that, the small talk returned to be just that, small talk. They talked about the pleasant weather the city was having lately. They chatted about the places Sammy's group would go and the people they would be meet. It was mindless chatter, at its most intellectual.

As the the chatter wound down, Hana helped Sammy out of his clothes and into the shower. The young man with perfectly smooth, cool skin took Sammy's wrists and guided him towards the knobs and soap. Sammy appreciated it. Handing him things wouldn't teach him where they were, wouldn't allow him to be independent. With slow, firm movements, Hana taught him the layout of the shower, speaking little and directing with a sort of calm confidence.

"So," Sammy found himself saying. The young man's sleeves were rolled up, revealing pale smooth skin up to his elbows. They brushed against Sammy's wet naked body and made him jump a little each time. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Doing what?" came the melodious reply.

"This. I mean, helping at the hotel. Do you work here or did the photography agency hire you?"

"My uncle works in human resources at the photography agency that hired you. I needed a summer part-time job so he gave me this."

Hana shifted, leaning farther into the tub and reached across it width. Sammy watched the nearly amorphous form slide across his limited field of view.

"So you're a student then? If the work's only for the summer."

"Yea. I'm a student." The pale and dark blue shapeless person rose and moved around to Sammy's right side and disappearing him behind him. "Here. I'll wash your back."

The wet soapy cloth was less a surprise that Hana repeated little touches. The pressure was as firm as the young man's movements which were even and constant. The cloth pressed into Sammy's skin harder than he expected but he was almost grateful. He couldn't take the feel of the other man's skin. For a minute. Sammy was content to let his back be washed and just feel the stream of the shower pour down on him. Before he became a model he had never appreciated the work that went into keeping a body beautiful. He supposed that, in a way, he still didn't.

He was almost relaxed enough to sleep standing up when the cloth was pressed that much harder to his skin. Sammy shifted and frowned. "Am I that dirty to you?" he asked.

"Oh! Oh no." The cloth came away and was replaced by the man's hands. "You're not dirty. You're tense. You're so tense. Do I make you tense?"

Sammy laughed. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "No. Not you. My job makes me tense. I'm suffering from jet lag. I don't know where I am. That makes me tense."

The pressing hands became slower but less gentle with his back. "I see. You need to relax. The camera will pick up your tension."

"I know," was the model's only response.

For another few minutes Hana's hands - which were stronger than Sammy ever would have guessed - worked over his back. The knots in his muscle stood no chance against the strong force pressed into them. Once again, Sammy relaxed. He heard Hana's voice as if in a daze.

"Sammy?"

"Yea?"

"Do you like me? So far, I mean. Do you think we'll get along?"

"I ... yea. I think so."

The pressed got harder, causing Sammy to grunt in momentary pain. "I can see from the way your shifting that your feet hurt."

"... Oh?"

"Yes. Sit down in the tub."

Sammy shifted. He was tired. More tired that he thought he would be even given all the travelling. His movements were jerky as he lowered himself to his knees and turned over to sit down in the tub. Water was pouring over his head now and pooling around his buttocks and legs. Sammy smiled. It felt good.

Above him, Hana was an increasinging pale shifting shape in front of him. The blue dropped away and the completely pale form dropped down into the tub. Sammy felt one of his feet being picked up. He moved to be more comfortable in this new position but otherwise let it happen. Besides, he wanted Hana to touch him. Sammy leaned back and closed his eyes. The tension was just melting out of him, being washing down the drain.

When Hana stopped rubbing his feet, the water was still hot. Sammy was busy deciding whether the man was fast or the hot water lasted a long time when a weight pressed down on his lap. Despite it not doing him much good, he opened his eyes.

The pale figure that he associated with his attendant was perched on him, straddling his hips. His strong hands came up over his chest, pressing with his palms, sending ripples of pleasure over Sammy's skin.

"You're still so tense."

Hana's voice was no less warm but it was softer than it had been before. Sammy's hand found its way to the young man's pelvis and he stroke the very fine invisible hair there.

"Y-yea?"

"I'll help you."

"Should you?"

Hana laugh was barely audible over the sound of the shower. He leaned in pushing his hips down into Sammy's lap. "Of course," he whispered. "It's what I'm here for: to help you. Let me help you."

Sammy felt the young man's chest push against his. He felt his mouth close down on his shoulder, sucking gently as he rocked in his lap. Sammy opened his mouth, but no words came out. The world in front of his eyes made less of an impression than usual. It was all a pale lavender and smooth. Hana's colorless hair and body almost blended in with the room. The only thing that stood out was the slight sparkling.

Hana pushed down onto his lap with force, sliding his smooth chest over Sammy's. His nipples, already sensitive from the shower hardened farther under the pressure. Hana placed his hands on Sammy's shoulders and pushed himself away. Even under the hot water, the model was cold without the young man against him. The water ran down his chest but parted where they connected, as if to remind him of the separation. It was so painful.

There was a change then. Hana moved back, pushing his weight away from Sammy's body. The model wanted to ask what he was doing but then something touched his chest. It was hot but solid and a little slimy. It took Sammy just a moment to figure out it was Hana's tongue. The young man licked his chest, at first in random areas but then very deliberately. He moved the muscle in circles around Sammy's left nipple, getting teasingly close but never touching it. Then he withdrew and copied the action on the right side. Sammy moved, squirmed slightly. He was surprised when a hand took hold of his hair.

"Stay still," Hana told him and his voice was so firm that Sammy obeyed.

The young man leaned down again. Sammy could feel his weight moving. The young man brought his mouth back to Sammy's chest and began to lick at a nipple languidly. He lapped at the nub as if it were some melting treat before closing his mouth around it and sucking.

Sammy hissed but tried to stay perfectly still. The only part of him he couldn't manage to control was his cock. The needy organ had stood up without Sammy's consent and was pressing into the slick cleft of Hana's backside. The young man's rocking and shifting caused the organ to push farther into the pocket of muscle and skin before withdrawing again. Sammy titled his head back, tensing farther.

When Hana finally released Sammy's swollen nipple, the man sighed. But the relief wasn't to last. The young man's hand came up and prodded the nub. It was then that Sammy noticed Han's fingernails. They were long but rounded and smooth. They felt well manicured. Perhaps the young man was hoping to end up in front of the camera. The nails pinched and tweaked his abused nipped but withdrew after a few terrible seconds of torment.

"I'm bored now," Hana muttered. His weight lifted off of Sammy but returned before the heat of his body was washed away by the water. "Don't move," the young man ordered.

Something was different. Sammy couldn't tell what but something was different. He was only mildly surprised when something slimy, cold and semi-liquid ran down his cock from nowhere.

"What is that?" he asked. He tried to looked, tried to squint. The edges of the bottle were blurred but it light blue color stood out from the paleness of Hana's hand.

"It's a kind of oil for sex. I don't know the English word for it."

"Lube. Why keep lube in the shower?"

"Don't you American's have sex in the shower? Or does the great American Empire not do that?"

Sammy laughed lightly. The lube was getting hot, warming of it own accord. He could feel the slick substance sliding down the shaft of his cock between his legs, over the sides of his balls. Everywhere it touched there was more and more heat. "No," the man said softly. "We do that."

"Well good," the young man said as he rose.

A few light kisses planted themselves on Sammy's head. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up to receive them. All was all so sweet. Kisses planted on his forehead, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose his cheeks. Even though he couldn't see Hana, he couldn't help but think how beautiful he was.

Finally, Hana lowered himself again. Sammy moaned as he felt his cock pushed past the ring of muscles at the younger man's entrance. Hana made a sound like a high pitched sigh as he continued to push, eventually sheathing Sammy completely. Sammy moaned again and pushed the palms of his hands into his Hana's thighs.

"It's lucky for both of us right now," Hana said breathlessly. "It just so happens I like older men."

"Older?" Sammy gasped. Hana was tight. His muscles inside were rippling and moving. Sammy feared he wouldn't last long in this state. "How much older than you do you think I am?"

The younger man made sound like a smile, a short, upturned sound like an abbreviated hum. "That depends. How old are you?"

"People never believe me anymore," Sammy whispered. He didn't care about ages. He just wanted sex. He squirmed and gasped. There was a tightness in his lower stomach, a knot that told him just how aroused he was. He was almost certain he'd cum soon.

"Tell me. I'll believe you."

"I'm forty."

"Forty?" Sammy muttered. He rose a little then pushed himself back down. "Forty." The word was almost a purr. "How exciting. I do like older men. You make me seem so childish, since I'm only nineteen." Hana laughed into Sammy shoulder and the model could feel his smile against his skin. "Forty." the young man said again. He rose and paused. "How terribly exciting."

And then he dropped. Hana dropped down hard, forcing Sammy deeper into him than he'd been so far. Sammy moaned; he couldn't help the sound that tore out of him.They rocked together in furious, graceless motion. Below the roar of the hot water there came this constant slapping sound as their bodies came together, wet skin against wet skin. Hana's short needy moans sounded like strange chimes, beautiful and unearthly. It reminded Sammy of that other shifter, the one he'd loved, the one he'd killed.

Hana leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sammy's neck. The young man buried his face into one of his arms as he rocked, faster and more erratically. Sammy could feel the other mans' cock rubbing up against his stomach. Sluggishly he pushed his hand between them and grasped the organ. It was thick for Hana's slender build and slick with precome. Sammy smiled and nibbled on Hana's neck as he pumped his manhood frantically. The shifter whined and moaned.

"I know," Hana gasped suddenly. "I know you're like me. Secretly. That's why-" The man gasped and shuddered. Sammy felt the vibration course down his own body. "That's why people can't help but look at you. But you're not using all of it. It's not just beauty. That's not our ability. It's want. You can make people want you. I could teach you that, if I wanted."

Sammy nodded and increased the vigor with which he stroke the man's organ. He would listen, of course. He would anything Hana wanted him to. He would anything he told him. Because he never wanted them to part. Without really noticing Sammy began to thrust upwards. He noticed the young man's loud cries though. The younger man hung off him, clung to him, panting, moaning. Hana pressed his mouth to Sammy ear and whispered.

"Please."

White lightning flashed behind Sammy's closed eyes. His body popped like a spring being released. He could feel his seed leaving him, filling Hana. They were still moving and Sammy felt the slickness of it just as he felt Hana's seed coat his belly. They writhed until the very end.

The water was still hot. It was a surprise to Sammy that the water was still hot. It washed away the semen from their encounter and left them clean and warm. He was still buried in Hana. It was feeling that he thought he could get used to. He was so tired and felt as if he could sleep like that.

"I was hasty," Hana muttered. "I should have gone for a condom, I think."

Sammy heard the words but was sluggish to respond. His world was black and swimming. He didn't bother to open his eyes. "I'm clean," he muttered.

Hana laughed warmly and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm sure," he said. "But I'm special, the sort of Ikujin that could get pregnant."

"You too?" Sammy had to force the words out. He was so tired.

"Yes. Ikujin can pass down their traits into two ways. Birth is one of them; you get your mother's traits, anyway."

" ...And ... and what's the other way?"

"You know the other way," Hana whispered. His voice was soft as a feather and black as pitch. "It's death. When Ikujin are killed, their killer gets their traits. It's tradition to kill one's father to keep the traits in the bloodline."

" ..."

"I never killed my father, though. He raised me and I never did it."

"Were you ... scared?"

"No. I never got the chance." Hana leaned forward. Sammy could feel his chest against him. He smiled. It felt good. But he could feel Hana frowning a terrible, dark, dangerous, beautiful frown. "You took that away from me," he whispered.

The sharp pain that bloomed in Sammy's chest felt like sex. It started in a tiny point then rippled through his body like an orgasm. Sammy opened his eyes. Suddenly his vision was back. It was perfect. And Hana. Hana looked like the other shifter. His father, Sammy supposed. Hana's father who Sammy had killed. He smiled. Hana smiled back and he was so beautiful.

"I ... love you," Sammy muttered.

Hana shook his head slowly as he grinned. "Oh, I know. I know."

Blackness crept up around the edges of his vision. Hana was fading. He tried to stop it. He didn't want Hana to go. He loved him. But Hana only smiled and got fainter and fainter.

* * *

 

It was all a big todo. The American Empire was asking how a model had been killed in a Tokyo hotel room without anyone seeing anything. Hana wasn't worried of course. No one who had seen him would tell anyone. He'd kissed them and made them promise to not tell anyone about him so they wouldn't. It had been seven months since then anyway. All of the attention from this would pass soon. The woman, Noma, had raised a fit for a while, but she was safely on the other side of the world. She didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hana had other things to think about.

"Hana! Hana!"

"I'm in here uncle."

The white haired man came into the room with a smile. He looked like them, like Hana, like Hana'a father. A father, a child, and an uncle all like dolls made to look alike.

"Hana, are you really watching that? It's not good for you to be worrying yourself in your condition."

The young man laughed and shook his head. He moved slightly, his large midsection slowing him down considerably. "Oh Uncle, I'm fine. I'm not the first person to be pregnant you know."

"I know. But it's twins. Look how big you are!"

Hana laughed and again and shook his head. "I'm fine. Really."

The older man shook his head as well and moved towards the sofa. "Well at least," he said as he snatched up the remote. "Stop watching this. That man doesn't deserve your attention. He took your father from you. Stole his abilities."

"I think it was an accident," Hana said carelessly. "He was almost sweet, and very susceptible to my charms. He told me he loved me, before he died."

"Humpf! That man is not worthy of loving you, even for a moment. Damn Statues. Sometimes I wish the whole lot of them would wind up dead."

"Uncle! Wishing half the world would die? How terrible. Besides I wish you wouldn't speak ill of my babies' father. After all, they got his abilities in some small way, since I took them for myself, now didn't they?"

Pausing, the uncle seemed to think this over and then nodded. "Yes. I supposed they did. Order has been restored."

"Yes, it has," Hana agreed with a smile.


End file.
